Unescapable Desires

The clock ticked faintly in the silence of the house, each sound sharp against the quiet. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, painting silver shadows across the floor. Sayuri's back pressed against the wall as Asan closed the distance between them. His broad frame loomed over hers, his dark hair falling over eyes that burned green in the dim light. "Asan," she whispered, her breath hitching as his hand brushed her waist, strong yet hesitant. "Didn't I tell you to quiet down?" His voice was low, almost a growl. "If she hears us—" Sayuri's lips curled into a sly smile. Her long, straight hair slipped forward, framing her face in dark silk. "Who cares if she hears?" she teased, her tone playful, daring. Her fingers trailed along his chest, lingering just long enough to make his composure falter. "She's always been a deep sleeper. And even if she wasn't… she wouldn't do anything to stop us." The corner of Asan's jaw tightened. Desire and frustration warred within him, pulling him closer until his breath mingled with hers. "You're reckless, Sayuri," he muttered. Before she could answer, his lips brushed against her neck. Slow. Deliberate. Testing. Sayuri gasped softly, her hand fisting into his shirt as her head tilted back, surrendering. The warmth of his mouth against her skin sent shivers racing down her spine. Each touch was careful, yet filled with a hunger that neither of them could ignore. "Asan…" her voice broke on his name, low and unsteady. Her reaction only pushed him further. His teeth grazed her skin—not enough to hurt, just enough to make her shiver harder, a stifled sound escaping her lips before she could catch it. He pulled back slightly, lips hovering just above her ear. "Quiet," he whispered again, though his own voice was thick with need. "You'll wake her." Sayuri's eyes opened slowly, meeting his with a dangerous gleam. "Maybe I want her to wake up," she breathed. "Maybe I want her to see who you truly want." Asan froze, his heart pounding. The words struck deeper than he wanted to admit. And then—The creak of a floorboard. They both froze. Sayuri straightened quickly, but Asan had already turned, his body tense. At the top of the staircase stood Elira. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight, red curls tumbling like fire down to her waist. Her blue eyes were wide, shimmering with something raw—hurt, betrayal, and fury all tangled together. "Asan," she said, her voice soft but cutting, "so this is where you've been." The air in the room turned sharp. Sayuri smirked, fixing her hair with deliberate slowness. "You really shouldn't sneak around, Elira. It's rude to spy." Elira's lashes lowered, her voice dripping with venom masked in sweetness. "And it's shameless," she whispered, her gaze flicking between them, "to touch what doesn't belong to you." Sayuri's smirk deepened. "Belong?" she echoed, stepping closer to Asan, her body brushing his as if daring Elira to watch. "Funny… he didn't seem like yours a moment ago." Asan's pulse thundered in his ears. The heat of Sayuri still lingered against him, yet Elira's stare burned hotter, searing through him. Torn between fire and ice, he could only stand there—caught in a moment that would change everything. Sayuri's breath came uneven, her chest rising and falling as she wiped the back of her hand across her lips. Her aloof mask was cracking, a rare flush spreading across her usually composed face. The air in the room had gone sharp, every breath heavy with tension. Elira's heels clicked softly against the floor as she descended the last step, her red curls glowing in the moonlight. Her pale skin seemed almost luminous, her eyes glinting like frozen fire as they locked on Sayuri. She didn't hesitate. With slow, deliberate steps, Elira walked up to them, her voice laced with mischief. "What if I just wanted to join?" she murmured, each word curling like smoke through the silence. "I could watch…" She paused, her lips curving. "…but that would be boring. You already know I can't sit still for too long." Sayuri's brow arched, her aloof features unreadable, though her hand tightened on the edge of her dress. "Elira…" she began, but her voice trailed off when Elira reached up. In one swift motion, Elira's hand caught her face, tilting it upward. Her touch was firm, almost daring Sayuri to resist. "Elira—" But her protest was cut short. Elira leaned in and pressed her mouth against Sayuri's, hard and unyielding. The kiss was deep, bold, filled with fire and intent. Her tongue teased its way past Sayuri's parted lips, pulling a muffled sound from her throat. Sayuri's hands pushed against Elira's shoulders, her breath faltering, her body fighting between rejection and something far more dangerous. She twisted her head, but Elira only pulled her closer, deepening the kiss until Sayuri's chest rose and fell rapidly, desperate for air. Across the room, Asan froze. His green eyes widened, his body going rigid as he watched. Heat rose in his chest—part fury, part disbelief, and yet… undeniable arousal. His jaw clenched, breath unsteady, as the sight burned into him. Sayuri finally tore her lips away, gasping, her hand at her chest. "Elira—stop!" she cried, voice breaking. Elira's lips lingered close, her breath brushing against Sayuri's skin. A wicked smile curved her mouth as she whispered, low enough for only the two of them—and Asan straining to hear. "Don't act like you've forgotten. We used to do this… long before Asan ever joined the picture." The words dropped like stones into the silence. Sayuri's eyes widened, her face flushing with shock and fury. "You—" she started, but Elira only smirked, tilting her head with practiced grace. Asan's fists curled at his sides, his chest heaving. The image of Elira's lips on Sayuri's replayed over and over in his mind, twisting his insides. His voice caught in his throat, torn between demanding answers and surrendering to the desire clawing at him. The room pulsed with unspoken fire: one girl trembling, another smirking, and a man at the breaking point. The love triangle had shifted. And none of them could turn back. "Elira," she snapped, voice sharp but shaky, "what the hell was that?" Elira tilted her head, her crimson curls cascading like fire. "Oh, come on," she teased, her tone dripping with amusement. "Don't act like you hated it." Her blue eyes glimmered, bold and unrelenting, as she stepped closer. "Besides… Asan wasn't the first man to taste jealousy because of us." Sayuri stiffened, her nails digging into her palms. "That was the past." "Maybe for you," Elira countered smoothly, her finger trailing along Sayuri's jaw before Sayuri batted it away. "But for me? I don't forget so easily." Sayuri's gaze turned icy, though her pulse betrayed her. "You always did love stealing the spotlight, didn't you? Always desperate for attention. Even now." Elira laughed softly, the sound rich and mocking. "And you always did love pretending you were above it all. The cold, untouchable Sayuri." She leaned closer, her breath brushing Sayuri's ear. "But I know better. I know how easily you melt." Sayuri's breath hitched, her body betraying her for a fraction of a second before she snapped back. Her hand shot out, gripping Elira's wrist tightly. "Don't test me, Elira." Their eyes locked—blue flames against dark storm. For a moment, the room was silent except for their ragged breathing. The air between them was charged, their rivalry brimming with both hatred and a dangerous intimacy neither could fully deny. Asan stood frozen, caught between stepping in or letting the fire burn itself out. But even from across the room, he felt it—the undeniable pull between the two women, a bond forged long before he entered the picture, now reignited in front of his very eyes. Sayuri released Elira's wrist with a shove, her voice cutting like glass. "If you want to fight me, Elira, then do it honestly. But don't you dare use my past against me." Elira only smiled, tilting her head as if savoring her victory. "Oh, Sayuri…" she purred. "This isn't about the past. This is about right now. And right now—" her gaze flicked toward Asan before returning, "—you and I both know who he's watching." Sayuri's lips parted, fury flickering in her eyes. For the first time in years, she felt cornered. And Elira knew it. Elira's smirk lingered as she leaned against the frame of the doorway, her glass of water still in her hand, the condensation sliding down like beads of sweat. "I just came down for a drink," she said, her tone casual but deliberate, every word pressed sharp into the silence. "Then I saw that y'all were having fun without me… so I wanted to join." Her eyes caught Sayuri's, unflinching, burning. "But it seems…" she let the pause stretch, "…I'm uninvited." Sayuri's nails dug into her palms, her whole body tight with heat—anger, shame, something more dangerous. Elira tilted the glass, sipping slow, her lips brushing the rim as though mocking the kiss she had just stolen. She swallowed, then added, "So I'm just gonna get my drink and go back upstairs… and listen to your moans." The words cut, slow and cruel, twisting inside Sayuri's chest. "Don't be scared to stop by my room, Sayuri." Elira's voice softened, almost sweet. "You're always invited." Then, with a final glance at Asan—sharp, deliberate, enough to make his jaw tighten—she turned on her heel. "Goodnight, Asan." Her footsteps faded up the stairs, but her presence didn't. The weight of her voice, her touch, her kiss—it stayed. Sayuri stood frozen, fire crawling up her throat. Asan reached for her. "Sayuri—" "Don't." Her voice cracked sharp. "Don't what?" His hand hovered. "Don't touch me. Don't call my name. Don't look at me after… after that." "Sayuri—" "I can't—" Her voice shook as she cut him off. "I can't do this right now." She shoved past him, every step heavy, carrying the burn of humiliation and anger up the stairs. Her anger carried her all the way to Elira's door. She didn't knock—she didn't have to. She raised her hand, ready to slam it down, ready to rip the smugness out of Elira's throat. But before she could—The door creaked open. Elira leaned lazily against the frame, curls spilling, eyes glinting with that same wicked light. "I knew you would come." Sayuri's breath hitched. "Don't flatter yourself. I came to yell at you. To scold you. To tell you to stay out of my life. To stop interfering." Elira stepped closer, slow, her shadow brushing Sayuri's. "Mm. You came upstairs. To my room. At night. Furious. Trembling. And you expect me to believe you're here just to yell?"